


Gasoline

by seibelsays



Series: Blessings and Curses [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seibelsays/pseuds/seibelsays
Summary: How Bob came to work for HYDRA and became the Winter Solider's handler.***A Blessings and Curses Prequel





	Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a few years before the events of Blessings and Curses.

“GET A JOB!” Allison yelled, slamming the door in his face.

Bob winced at the sound and sighed. She was right really - he needed a job. Preferably one with benefits, as she was pregnant and his back molar was hurting something fierce. She couldn’t shoulder the burden of household finances alone.

Not that he’d ever expected her to. When they got married, things had been different. These days, however, jobs for his particular skillset were in short supply.

Well, there was…

He shook his head. That was a last resort.

***

Bob ripped up the application and tossed it in the nearest trash bin as he stalked out of the bar. 

65 applications.

15 interviews.

Not a single one that would guarantee full-time hours that would qualify him for benefits.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and gazed down at the little sonogram photo he’d been carrying since they gave it to him at Allison’s last appointment. He ran his finger over the little blob that they said what their baby’s head, then reached into the wallet and pulled out a white card with one word and a phone number.

HYDRA.

Time for his last resort.

***

Getting hired by HYDRA was shockingly easy.

He barely had to provide any information whatsoever. He showed up, flashed the card he’d been given, and they’d assigned him a uniform. 

He had to wonder just what exactly he was getting himself into.

That was a problem for later, however. Now, he had to get this benefits packet home to Allison so they could figure out getting her maternity care paid for.

***

Two years. He’d been doing this nonsense for two years.

It really spoke to the level of incompetence of the other goons HYDRA employed that in those two years, Bob had risen through the ranks in a rather spectacular fashion. Bob wasn’t especially good at his job. Bob just didn’t epically fail at the tasks he was assigned.

Which explained today. 

He had been called in for a meeting with none other than Alexander Pierce, to be reassigned to an above top-secret project. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, already feeling the ache in his feet from standing at attention on the unforgiving concrete floor of the bank vault. He should really invest in some new insoles for his work boots - HYDRA certainly wasn’t going to do anything for him. He’d probably get fired for even asking.

A very large and scary-looking man strode into the vault, a grim expression on his face as he surveyed the room. Bob knew him by reputation and mentally cringed. He’d made it one of his career goals to never be in the same room as Brock Rumlow.

“You!” he barked, nodding slightly at Bob. “Clear that corner. We’re bringing in the Asset.”

Bob blinked, having no earthly idea what the hell “the asset” meant, but he jumped to follow the order and hoped he wouldn’t be moving anything too messy. 

Maybe “the asset” would be something interesting - a new training bot or inspired new weapons tech. Boomerang arrows! That would be fun. Bob entertained himself with all the possibilities as he moved the equipment out of the corner to the other side of the room.

He heard heavy boots and a squeaky wheel and the drag of feet coming down the ramp into the vault and Bob quickened his movements to make sure the corner was clear of all boxes and equipment before the cause of those sounds reached him. After he moved the last box, he spun around and returned to attention.

He was not prepared for the sight in front of him.

Into the space he’d just cleared, a group of agents wheeled a metal chair, outfitted with a lot of scary-looking instruments and restraints. They made quick work of connecting the chair to other equipment in the room, then rushed out of the way to make themselves unobtrusive along the walls of the vault.

The dragging sound Bob had heard came from a man - a young man, in tactical gear with long dark hair that hung in his face and bags under his eyes so heavy Bob could have packed his entire family away for a vacation. Heavily armed agents dragged the dazed man further into the vault and unceremoniously shoved him into the chair and began the process of holding him down with the restraints. One of the guards shoved a black mouth piece into the dazed man’s mouth. His eyes were so glassy and unfocused, Bob couldn’t be sure he was even aware of what was happening around him. He knew better than to ask, but a pang of sympathy for the man made him want to anyway.

“Agent,” Rumlow said, nodding at Bob, “meet the Asset. You’ll be in charge of looking after it.” He sneered. “Don’t fuck it up - you’re expendable.”

Bob only gave a nod but he was internally freaking out. Looking after this guy? What the hell was that going to entail? Would there be a manual? There had to be a manual, right? This guy was in absolutely no condition to give him any direction at all, and more than likely whoever had been in charge of him before had retired to a shallow grave somewhere.

One of the techs at the side of the room threw a switch and the lights in the room flickered. Some of the instruments near the top of the chair began to lower around the poor man’s head and Bob could see his breathing become rapid and shallow.

He was panicking.

“Sir?” Bob asked quietly and braced for the backhand that was likely to follow.

Rumlow grinned, his glee apparent and Bob’s skin crawled.

That’s when the screaming started.

***

There was no manual.

A few of the agents who had come in with the Asset had taken pity on Bob and given him a few, rudimentary instructions, but overall he’d had to figure things out on his own. 

Bob knew the following:  
1\. The Asset was not fed. He received nutrients and hydration intravenously.  
2\. The Asset did not bathe. If he was excessively messy, Bob was authorized to spray him down with a hose.  
3\. If the Asset was out of cryofreeze for longer than six days, Bob was to send him to the chair for reconditioning.  
4\. If the Asset spoke beyond acknowledgement of his orders, Bob was to send him to the chair for reconditioning.  
5\. Whoever the Asset had been before HYDRA got their claws into him didn’t exist anymore.

In the three years Bob had been assigned to the Asset, he’d only been out of cryo five times and only one of those times was longer than six days, necessitating a return to the chair. Bob accompanied the Asset to the spot on the globe he would be operating in, but generally wasn’t otherwise involved in whatever operations he was assigned to. He had his suspicions of what he did in his time out in the world, but didn’t dare ask for more information. When they weren’t on assignment, and the Asset was asleep in his cryotube, Bob’s days consisted of drinking bad coffee and reading the paper. 

Bob was basically a glorified babysitter to a popsicle. He was okay with that - the pay was fantastic and Allison adored that he was home most of the time to help with the boys. She was less enthused about the lack of dental coverage HYDRA provided and reminded him frequently that AIM provided full dental as part of its benefits package.

Bob ignored her complaints. He doubted HYDRA would let him quit at this point - he knew too much about their super-top secret Asset. Besides, it was _his job_ to look after the poor guy. They’d never spoken - the Asset didn’t do conversation - but Bob still felt a bit protective.

He sighed and slumped into the chair he’d dragged into the tiny room where they stored the cryotube when it was in use and wondered for the thousandth time just how quickly he’d die if he tried to find this guy’s file. He couldn’t imagine anyone actually signing up for this.

 _He’d_ barely signed up for this, and it had been a last resort. 

Bob had never witnessed it, but he’d heard a rumor from one of the other techs that the Asset had a tendency to wander off after seven days, hence the time limit before returning him to the chair. One day, Bob hoped to work up the courage to ask him where he went. They didn’t have that kind of relationship, though. He was just the handler. 

He probably didn’t remember anyway - with the mind control and all. The more Bob thought about it, the sadder it became.

He dug around in his jacket pocket for a book and glanced up at the tube. The Asset - god, he was tired of calling this guy that, he really wished he knew his name - looked peaceful in statis. Bob knew better though. He saw the fear that lanced through his eyes every time they stuffed him back in there. 

He wasn’t sure what was worse - the fear when he went under, or the resignation when he came back out.

“Well, my man, here we are again. Another raucous Saturday night,” Bob said, addressing the cryotube. “What do you say we get real crazy and start a new book, huh? You down?”

He flipped to the first page, then took a sip of his coffee and began to read.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.”

***

Today, they were bringing him out of cryo again. They’d commandeered a surgical theater at George Washington University Hospital for the immediate follow-up, but their base of operations for the duration of the mission would be another bank vault in downtown Washington DC. Beyond that, Bob didn’t have any idea what the mission entailed. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.

Brock Rumlow hovered next to Bob while the doctors and technicians checked over the Asset. 

“What do you know about Captain America?” he asked.

Bob froze. Beyond the threat not to screw up, Rumlow had never spoken to him directly. He would have to tread carefully if he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Rumlow’s backhand. Or knife. Or gun.

He gave a careful shrug of a shoulder. “Whatever was in the cartoons, I guess.”

“Cartoons?” Rumlow asked sharply.

Bob forced himself to remain calm. “Parents were fans when I was a kid,” he replied, in as bored of a voice as he could manage. No need to mention that Bob still owned every issue of the Captain America and Howling Commandos comic books, or that his kids had practically been raised on the Captain America Saturday morning cartoon. No need to mention that he had kids, really.

It wasn’t that HYDRA didn’t _know_ \- Bob was sure he’d never be able to keep something like that from his employer, so he didn’t bother to try. He just didn’t mention it and hoped that he flew under the radar enough that most people forgot. It was as best as he could protect his family from his work. For all the good it had done him.

Rumlow narrowed his eyes. “What’d you think of it?”

“Entertaining enough when you’re six, I guess.” No one needed to know about the cosplay currently sitting half finished in his closet.

“Sir?” a tech called, pulling Rumlow’s attention away from Bob. “The Asset is ready.”

A feral grin spread across his face and Bob shuddered.

“Time to have some fun.”

***

The arm was malfunctioning. FUCK. The arm was malfunctioning and Bob only had the _barest_ clue how to fix it. What the hell had that woman _done_? He’d heard about the infamous “Widow’s Bite” but shit. She’d done a number on this thing. He dug through another drawer for an instrument to pop open the casing of another section of the arm, hoping that this section would have smoking wires or something that would point to the cause of the malfunction.

“I knew ‘im,” the Asset breathed, just loud enough for Bob to hear.

The Asset’s voice started Bob so badly he dropped the instrument in his hand, causing a loud clang to echo through the vault. A few of the other techs glared at him, but no one commented. He scrambled to pick up the instrument again and began poking through the innards of the arm.

“I knew ‘im,” the Asset breathed again.

“Shhhhhhh,” Bob soothed quietly. “Stop it. Not here. Not now, okay?”

The Asset looked at him, the confusion apparent on his face, but he didn’t say anything else. Bob gave him a small nod, then continued his work.

He mentally sighed when Pierce arrived, interrupting. He was never going to fix this damn thing at this rate. He turned and stood to acknowledge his arrival.

“Sir,” Bob said, trying to keep his voice even and detached, “he’s unstable. Erratic.”

Pierce just glared at him. So much for Plan A. 

“Mission report,” Pierce demanded. “Mission report, now.”

The Asset just stared into space ahead of him.

“I knew ‘im,” he mumbled. 

_Fuck._

“Prep him,” Pierce ordered.

Bob watched the tiny flicker of emotion cross the man’s face. 

“Sir,” Bob interrupted, then stopped abruptly. What the hell was he doing? “He’s...uh. He’s been out of cryo too long.”

_Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t kill me._

Pierce glared at Bob for a moment, then turned back to the Asset. “Then wipe him and start over.”

_Fuck._

He saw the Asset’s breath stutter slightly and Bob gently grasped his shoulder to encourage him to sit back. This process was never, ever easy - but it was significantly less messy if they didn’t fight it.

Bob hated that he knew that. Hated that he was even remotely part of what was happening here.

Bob wished he wasn’t such a coward.

“I knew ‘im,” the Asset breathed, a pleading look in his eye.

“I know,” Bob said and held out the mouth guard.

***

“Something’s wrong,” Rumlow growled. “It should be screaming by now.”

Pierce hummed and Bob shoved the small conductor from the machine deeper into his pocket, trying to cover how badly his hands where shaking. If he’d calculated correctly, removing it should allow the Asset to retain his more recent memories. The wipe wouldn’t work. Maybe he could figure out who the hell Captain America was to this guy before they stuffed him back in cryo. Or killed Bob. Whichever.

He hadn’t anticipated the lack of screaming giving them away.

“You,” Rumlow snapped at Bob.

“S-sir?”

“Is this thing calibrated correctly?”

“To my knowledge, sir. Perhaps…” Bon thought fast and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “...he’s becoming immune.”

“Immune?” Rumlow spat.

“He…” Bob glanced around, realizing that all eyes in the room - except for the poor Asset’s, of course, he was still suffering through the effects of the chair - were on him. “He’s done this for quite a while, hasn’t he?”

The machine shut down and the sudden silence in the room was deafening.

Rumlow glared at him for a moment. “Wipe him again.”

“Sir? We - we _can’t_ , we don’t - don’t know what effect that would-”

“We will shortly.”

Bob swallowed hard and looked to Pierce. “Sir?”

Pierce considered for a moment, then nodded. “The Asset is reaching the end of it’s useful life anyway. Once Project Insight has launched, it will be decommissioned. Any side-effects from an additional wipe now will be inconsequential.”

Decommissioned. They were going to kill him.

And likely Bob. 

_Shit._

***

_I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here._

HYDRA kept very little in the way of paper files. They weren’t efficient. But some things were far too sensitive to put on a computer. 

He tentatively approached the cabinet and glanced behind him. Almost everyone in the facility was currently preoccupied with Project Insight launch, but that didn’t mean that everyone was neglecting their security sweeps. Bob just had to hope that whoever was on watch for this corridor was preoccupied for another few minutes. Just enough to get in, find what he was looking for, and get back out. This was going to be his only shot at this.

The cabinet opened with almost laughable ease. He’d been practicing his lock-picking, but he knew that it wasn’t his skill that had gotten him in. Someone was feeling a little overconfident and had gotten sloppy. 

Then again.

If they truly were going to “decommission” the Asset, maybe protecting his former identity and all the things that had happened to him over the years wasn’t a priority anymore. 

Or it was all a trap.

Oh well. He probably wasn’t going to survive the day anyway. May as well go out with a bang.

He dug through the drawer until he came to a thick folder covered in a familiar symbol - the one Bob had come to recognize as the symbol used anytime the Asset was involved. He pulled the folder out and quickly flipped it open.

And nearly dropped it.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

Holy shit.

***

“Bob,” a gravelly voice said from the entrance to the vault.

He turned and saw the Asset - no, not the Asset, _James Barnes_ \- standing there. He’d been beaten to hell, but his shoulders were square and he looked better than he had the last time Bob had seen him.

“What are you doing here?”

Bob snorted. “Could ask you the same - HYDRA’s done. You should be running for your life right now. Get as far away from this mess as you can before someone tries to regroup.”

He said nothing, just ran his eyes over Bob’s hunched form. Calculating.

Bob dragged himself to his feet and grabbed a thick envelope from the table. “I pulled this. When everything went to hell. Before they torched the record room.” He offered it to the him. “It’s your file.”

Barnes’ eyes widened but he didn’t move to take the envelope.

“I know who you were,” Bob said, his voice shaking just a little, but he was pretty proud of how well he was holding it together, considering. “And why the man on the bridge was familiar to you.”

“My mission,” he muttered.

“Your friend,” Bob countered.

The Asset - _James_ , Bob mentally corrected again - swallowed hard and finally looked down at the file, tentatively reaching for it before pulling his hand back.

“There’s a museum exhibit,” Bob continued. “Might have more information than this file on who you were.”

James stared at him. The lack of blinking was starting to unnerve Bob just a little. Or maybe that was shock. Who knew, really.

“Why are you here?” James finally asked.

“I wanted to get this to you. And help you torch this place.”

“And after?”

“I’m going home, sleeping for a week, and looking for a new job.”

“Rebuilding HYDRA?”

“Hell no,” Bob said. “Something else. Maybe Baskin Robins is hiring.”

James’ brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Family?”

Bob hesitated, then shook his head. “Wife took the kids a while back. Not sure about your family though. They weren’t in the file. Maybe the museum has something.”

James nodded slightly and finally took the envelope from Bob.

He chewed on his lip before continuing. “There’s...you had Words,” he bit out. “It wasn’t noted in the file what they were or what color they had been. They were…” Bob gestured to James’ metal arm. “But you had them. You have a soulmate.”

James blinked. “Only humans have soulmates.”

“And just what do you think you are?”

James blinked again, but didn’t answer. They stood in silence for a few minutes before Bob remembered that more than likely there were be some type of law enforcement looking for them sooner rather than later.

“Ready to torch this place?”

***

They were three blocks away when the bombs finally blew.

Bob flinched but James kept walking as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

They may have both served under the same evil organization, but Bob and James had lead very, very different lives.

“Do you have a plan?” Bob asked, when he’d recovered a bit.

James blinked a few times, but didn’t answer. There was a startled, wild look in his eyes, but the rest of his face was impassive.

Bob cleared his throat. “You could-”

“I’ll be fine,” James interrupted, his tone brokering no argument. 

Bob nodded and let it drop, slowing his pace and motioning down the side street. “Well...I guess I’ll head home then.”

James stopped as well and turned to him. After a moment’s consideration, he gave Bob a single nod and turned to go.

Bob watched him stalk away, wondering if he should rush after him, offer...something. He dismissed the thought - he had no skills that would be useful to the man. If anything, he’d be an annoyance and a drag. James would have enough rebuilding to do without Bob tagging along to drag him down.

James suddenly turned around. “Bob?” he asked, unsure.

“Yeah?”

James blinked again. “Thank you.”

***

_Three Years Later_

Bob rubbed his eyes and threw open the door without checking the peephole first.

And then slammed it closed again.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. It sounded annoyed. Could knocks sound annoyed? This one did.

He sighed and opened the door again.

“Yes?”

“Hello Bob,” James Barnes said, his voice dry.

Bob gave him a quick once over. He looked infinitely better than the last time he’d seen the other man - which, admittedly, wasn’t hard.

Bob just had no idea what the hell he was doing on his doorstep.

“Hi,” he replied.

“Got a proposition for ya.”

“I’m not killing anyone,” Bob replied automatically.

James’ raised an eyebrow and quirked an amused smile. And wasn’t that a trip - he’d never seen that particular look on his face before.

“Wouldn’t ask you to,” James replied.

“Oh. Maiming? I’m not really-”

“Rumor has it, you look after your own,” a voice said from somewhere behind James. Bob peered into the hallway as a man stepped forward and Bob almost passed out when he recognized the voice’s owner.

“How would you like to work with the Avengers?” Steve Rogers asked.


End file.
